jannat al-ma'wa [OTA]

[candor1]

WHO: Cassian, Jyn, K-2SO, Revan, OTA
WHERE: Neojedha in Maurtia Falls
WHEN: huh? continuity? (your choice)
WHAT: The dojo opens (multithreads welcome)
WARNINGS: facepalmingly pompous mun!wish-fulfillment re: community service and indie start-ups; any of the reasons someone might need a shelter situation; PTSD sublimation; TL;DRing up the tauntaun. 1 and 2 are kinda infodumps. 3 (knowing us) could did get smutty. 4's accessibly friendly!

P.S. on taking cultural references from karking everywhere (title: Arabic, passcode: Sanskrit, setting: Americanization of Japanese, characters: none of these…) Cassian's trying to avoid cultural appropriation without even knowing the term; I'm stomping carelessly through the tulips. Hopefully not to conflate any of the cultures or schools of thought. Thinking more of The Cloisters: a museum Frankensteined from many different religious sites and relics, exploring the differences and finding underlying agreements, resulting in a space that feels secularly holy.


1. Neojedha: the dojo (attn. Jyn Erso, K-2SO, Revan, OTAnyone who wants to stop in while the place is active)
2. Haven: the safehouse (closed to Jyn, Kay, Revan)
3. The Bridge: between them (closed to Jyn Erso)
4. Outside: the street, the back alley, the fire escape, the roof, etc (OTA - WHAT a proper prompt)
5. The world: NPC neighbors and friends (if you ever come while they're closed and ask the neighbors about the dojo's staff, this is the info you'll get)



[+ image references: Colleen Wing's Chikara Dojo from "Iron Fist" …babeh]

Comments

[candor1]

He kissed her back on the temple above the forest
He moved against her in the bed in their haven
hands sliding to loosen her clothes
hands sliding to gather her close
his body calling to hers
asking if it wanted to slip into each other again
not caring about its own arousal or release, just wanting to be with her
in true restored state
as they'd evaporated together in the white light
but this time without oblivion
this time minds staying together too

[kestreldawn]

She melts into him - here and there and every space in between - with melodic murmurs and floating sighs. Hands trailing up his exposed abdomen, chest, shoulders, drawing herself closer with a push of her hips towards his own. An answer floats in somewhere in the ether around their heads and in the galaxies overhead - "always" - somehow Jyn's voice and somehow something else, something larger and more ethereal than she could ever hope to be. Fingers untucking the towel from around his waist and flicking the dampened fabric away from him with careful precision, greedily exploring the exposed flesh and dark forests underneath, flesh already rigid in her grasp.

[candor1]

Soon both temple and dojo will seamlessly fall away, both places and none, when all he knows is her.

He unfastened her bra under her clothes, gently opening and peeling away everything and down off of her, kissing her skin as it was bared, as his hips rolled softly against her, moving himself in long strokes in her circling hand.

[kestreldawn]

It hasn't been an excruciatingly long time since the nerve fibers her body sang underneath his touch they way they are now - and certainly, she'd gone through a much longer period of time after escaping Skuhl, and yet - it feels like eternities, like gliding timelines and universes that have been birthed and transformed and withered. Her body swells beneath his hands, his adept fingers like a wave crashing against a bluff, as though it's never known the feeling of them before. Or like it's forgotten the silk and velvet sensation of it and hungrily devours all it can do in order to remember.

She uses the tug and pull of her feet against the legs of her trousers to inch them down her legs, toeing off one boot, then the other, and shedding the fabric of first trouser than undergarment like sloughed skin. She takes one of his hands and guides it down below, teeth grazing over the plump flesh of his lip.

[candor1]

His thumb moves over her hand as she guides it. Then drifts from her hand to where it's placed.

The feel of her. From the coursest scars to this softest flesh. He follows every ripple of terrain, as if what she feels like against his fingers could be just as enthralling as anything he might be giving her. Continuing to part and trace and work in her with painstaking care, as far as his fingers could reach and bend, while his thumb comes to kiss its rough texture to its chosen anchor and begins building warmth, stimulating her, there.

Higher up, his arm has slipped under hers, circling her ribs and up her back, so his other hand can slide in her raven hair, hold her head. His face is tilted down, in pure concentration of both their hands. Their breaths cross, chests moving as one, even following one another when their hands make breathing catch.

The sun warmed stones against his skin. That's what he tries to make his hand feel like to her.
The ocean above the trees. That's what her hand is doing to him.
He doesn't need to bring her to it. She brings it back to him.

[kestreldawn]

She shouts into the cavern of his mouth at the contact of his hand to her, the ease in which it explores and charts every ounce of territory she so willingly presents to him. It's no longer unknown, no longer foreign in the way it had been the first time - yet his hands, like wanderers, plant gardens as they move - sprouting buds and leaves and flora, even in the darkness.

The hand not curled around him like an equator slips itself between his neck and the bed underneath, hair and skin still lingeringly damp from his shower, made worse by the rising temperatures of their polarities, both separately and together.

Pelvic anchors twitch and flourish underneath, around the sun rays of his hand, his fingers; lungs expel and vibrate all thoracic corridors towards her mouth, where lips part for breath and sound and urgent murmurs.

[candor1]

He groans in need of her. And moved. His head ducking for his mouth to have her throat. His hips thrusting his hard on through and past her hold on it. His whole body arching to align them… find the river in the valley charted by his hand. And slick and frictionless, through and against every rippling grip and nerve, surging through.

None of which broke for a moment the rhythm of his thumb against her own hard flesh. It worked at her, light and ceaseless like water, even as their stomachs pressed abruptly together, forcing the rest of his hand flat between them. His other fingers moved aside for the greater mass of him to enter her. And as he'd wanted to do so badly before, he worked her now from both sides: cock within, thumb without, driving her with all he could to starlines and relief, shaking in his core with the intensity of her throes and swells around him.

[kestreldawn]

Ease of entry requires movement on her part, and she divides her legs like the parting of seas, hooking the upper over the curve of his hip like the crest of a wave coming into shore. Bodyquakes and seismic activity ruptures from within, an unseen beast lurking, thrashing below the halcyon surface of her skin. Her hand slides through the archway created by his neck to wrap around his shoulders, forehead to forehead, eyes stitched tightly closed as her now-free hand comes to rest at the cliff of his jaw.

Skin turns to land - mountains swell where her breasts once were, rivers flow where they fuse together, jagged quarries and crags on the sharp edges of bone sliding beneath the thin outer crust. Canyons for mouths, gales and hurricanes for breath.

Below, the creation of energy in its purest form.

Friction heat fire spark light.

All of her welcoming all of him, as the volcanic ash begins to unleash in the room around them - a promise of the eruption forthcoming.

HOT ICON

[candor1]

He thinks (he hopes) he's learned to tell when she's getting close. How to read her sounds and follow her motion, her straining to what's driving her forward. Advance the course. Ride into the gravity well. Be utterly led by her.

And feeling her start to crest… on lustblown impulse, his body went suddenly still. Still inside her, as hard and far he could go, flesh straining of its own accord, breathing and heartbeat pushing and pounding her. But his muscles made to be motionless, a cessation of thrusts. He just stayed there, filling and holding her from within.

Not from any change of feeling or mind. Not from any desire to stop.

Purely to throw all focus and support (…literally) to his touch on her outside. Compressing her between himself. Rubbing, drawing it from her—like easing back a hyperdrive control…

"That's it," he breathed. "Ugh, Jyn, yes…"

I KNOW it's from some movie lol

[kestreldawn]

The verbal command always seems to be the last bit that she needs - already driven towards the summit with the adept and skillfully two-dimensional orbit of his fingers against her. It feels like atoms colliding, expelling light and energy off of each other and into the void, into her, into his hand, into the two of them together on this insignificant planet in the vaster expanse of space. It's only a few ragged breaths longer, painted golds and pinks and reds with her moans, before she's free-falling over the precipice, tumbling freely and in a crash of vibration, contraction, undulation.

Her fingers dig into his flesh as though he were the dirt of the earth, hips bucking like ripples after the submersion of a boulder in a pond, his name uttered in prayer and reverence and reward from her lips.

[candor1]

He can't stop himself bucking inside her, diving into the wave as she cascades. Then stilled himself again. Losing himself in the feel of her climax. Hoping his own could be put off forever so he could remain like this with her.

His hand left her locus to grasp her face, palm pressed along jaw, holding their foreheads together, like each was the other's oxygen mask, like it could keep them from a fall.

His flesh moves of its own accord, so slightly, inside her. But everywhere else, where consciousness can decide, he's not going to be the one to initiate motion again. He'd wanted to make her come fast. (The fact that they can and do is still remarkable to him.) His can wait for new sentience to rise.

[kestreldawn]

As the last tendrils of electricity scamper out towards all corners of the room, stimulating what feels like every single muscle fiber carefully wrapped around bone, she stills. There are a few tiny quivers of residual impact, but she lets herself float for a few moments - existing, breathing, feeling, reeling. A bubbling series of giggles come out of her, tongue swiping at her lips to wet them, before she narrows the space and presses them to his.

Another spark of skin against skin.

And like an engine, it turns over the mechanics of her hips again - which begin to move in slow and steady undulations, leg still hooked greedily around his hip to assist in forward propulsion. Renewed sensation from within pulls a moan out of her like a wisp of smoke, which she releases into the darkness of his mouth, into the softness of his lips.

[candor1]

A burst, vocal breath, only half leaving his throat, as she began to ride him—though they were still lying partially on their sides, canted for her to be slightly beneath him. It's so… she's so… she feels…

With a low moan of effort, he doesn't resume moving in turn. Keeps himself motionless for her to work herself upon him. Let himself feel every ripple, every spasm, every surge of her muscles under his hands, against his stomach, around his hips… around… Fighting feeling he 'should'… do his part, share the labor, but… didn't always have to… try to… Yavá, oh god, her… the way she felt, she moved…


Cassian barely spoke when he did or didn't mean to. He hardly vocalized in nightmares. His speech was a measured release, awake.

He'd never been inclined to talk through… engagement.

He could if that's what would bring a target over the edge. But to him, it would be technical. A way to control himself more, keep his mind detached from sensation, even if pretending it was spontaneous, loss of control.

He's barely aware of spilling words to her now. Only knows he wants to know connection to her in every way. Know she's there with him also in minds. "Follar-me… sóc teu… Jyn, god… stay with… ¡—! això… adelante… my love, yes…"

[kestreldawn]

The words are foreign to her ears, but it's as though the very blood rushing through her body - pooling down below beneath the surface of her skin, heating up and blooming the apples of her cheeks like petals in the sun - can understand. Elicits a shiver from the nerves of her body to send a shiver down her spine, which buries itself into her and around him, spasming the muscle that sheaths him so deliciously.

A part of her worries that she is being greedy - taking what she wants from him, perhaps as concerned with mutual consent and participation as he often is - but the words that spill from his mouth like sugar and honey reassure her. He's with her; they're together; she isn't taking anything away from him.

She wishes she knew more in Yaval with which to blanket him, wishes she could release the words like wisps of colored smoke into the air. Basic sounds so harsh, so crude against Yaval's flowing tide and nectar-like sweetness. But she breathes his name, she breathes pleas of desire and hunger and wanting, she breathes declarations of love and adoration all the same.

[candor1]

When had his hands moved…?

One cups the mound of muscle at the top of her thigh, following and feeding its exertions; kneading her grinding him, push and be pushed, supporting and compelling both at once. If she's 'taking', it's what he strains to give, and needs her to pull out of him.

The other finds her face, her scalp, her jaw, under her hair; cradling the weight of her head and straining himself to it, his hand running in her hair on her skin in counterweight and symmetry to his mouth finding hers, motion and touch taking over the cadence of language from them both.

He holds himself back… hold… slowly… abdomen concave, taut, thrumming like a wire, so they can meet at mouths and cores. And begins slowly—slowly—rising and falling within her again.

Even if what's born of it is not life, it's still working to create… galaxies wheeling to birth light itself.

[kestreldawn]

A phrase in Yaval comes back to her, one she's heard him say before.

"T'estimo," she breathes in between the collision of lips, moans rippling the surface underneath, air pushing it all down as it comes rushing from her mouth. Her eyes flicker open, burning with the light underneath as it traces the delicate and familiar patterns of his face. "T'estimo," she repeats, a hand coming to skirt across the edge of his jaw as flips herself over and on top of him in a fluid dance of muscle and bone.

The change of angle and position makes her cry out, dark hair coming to curtain her face and counteract the lightness of her eyes as they peer down at him, lips curling with hedonistic pleasure. She leans herself down, close enough to bring her mouth near his ear, skin brushing against skin as she whispers.

"Come for me."

[candor1]

His breath goes at her saying the word.
He knows he's said it to her and she's picked it up but somehow now it hits…
Jerón never
had he to Seidh
how would she have
(doesn't feel invasive or humiliating or incestuous to have them come to mind; because they don't, really; they're not real; he had no feelings or experience of parents; just try to imagine other stories, other ways of expressing and imagining, in culture and intent, in the worlds and manifestations of love
because she invited and invoked
embracing his ghosts too)
A pike of emotion that goes back so far, so deep, bone and blood might be wrenched out behind it… but it won't because her saying it is as much to be pierced by her as also to be held by her. No matter the depressurization, his chest won't come apart because her Force wraps him inside it and holds it together.
he loves her too

His mind isn't quick enough to do it deliberately, but his body tries to help when she upends them. Arching up into her, locking their fulcrum, giving her leverage—and yielding such an intense sensation, he doesn't fall back to the mattress but strains further, pressing up and forward…
his hands stay for her to twist and slide within them, not trying to grasp or hold on, let her run beneath them like water
only as she's above him, moving his palm onto her breast

And she commands and he'll always obey

harder than he has before, arched and thrown back, spasming apart beneath her. He doesn't mean to pull her so hard down onto him, but he trusts, at last, that she tends to like when he loses control and has no qualms stopping him when she doesn't

So just lets go. …And lets her see all of it.

I'M SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG MY DEAR

[kestreldawn]

If Jyn wasn't so singularly focused and intent on riding his wave, crashing into its peak and decline, and letting the current of it drag her out to sea, the sight, feeling, sound of him climaxing so beautifully beneath and inside of her would have made her come hot on his proverbial heels. But her focus doesn't spare any thought or sensation for herself, except to mindfully and controllably spasm around him and draw out of him all that she physically can with every part of her body so skillfully and softly wrapped around him.

She presses her lips to his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. Swipes her tongue across them to gather and collect the salt from his skin. Murmurs non-sensical sounds of elation and passion and intoxication at their heady taste, scent, feeling. Curls one arm up, forearm to the mattress, hand roughly tangled in his hair, gathered in a loose fist. The other hand reaching to find his, weaving fingers together.

"T'estimo," she whispers again in between punctuated sighs. "I love you."

<33333333

[candor1]

He meets her grasp. His other hand had struck the mattress and gripped its edge, hanging on as gravity capsized. He releases that deathgrip for his fingers to seek her. They skimmed her knee, ran worshipfully up her thigh, and curved around her waist.

He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed, if he was still lying flat or the gravity had turned off and they were free-falling, or who was breathing so hard inside his ears. But between heaving breaths, without needing to know any of those things, he answered, in as many languages as it took for him to remember which one was Basic. "Te amo - 'ahbak - s'agapó - salanghae - love you."

His hand completed its circumnavigation, guiding his arm around her, which he closed now to hold them together.

are you flying out today or already back in CA?

[kestreldawn]

She feels the purposeful crawl of his touch as it spreads across her skin like wind and fire, raising little epithelial mounds around each hair follicle. A quiet, thunderously rumbling giggle lurches out of her, nose nuzzled somewhere between his face and neck and shoulder, fingers offering a gentle tug at his strands.

There's a particular velvet to his words - ones she knows she'd heard before from Mama and Papa (never once after that from any parental figure, neither Saw nor Maia nor Staven), and perhaps murmured in post-coital ecstasy like this from Hadder on occasion - but all of those feel like ash in her ears to the golden liquid of Cassian's reverberating voice. It envelops her and soothes her and lights her like a beacon on some far off peak, illuminated and incandescent.

She litters his face with fluttering kisses accented with smiles and giggling whispers, before nuzzling in again, pressing her forehead to his jaw.

I was flying when you wrote that and I'm in CA now! <3

[candor1]

The infinite echoing feedback of sharing the feelings they're giving one another… it hurts, sublimely, boundless.

He catches her suddenly in his arms and pivots them both to rest on their sides. Envelops her with his arms and body and returned kiss. Folding himself around her so she can take the place that's been waiting for her in his ribs and lungs and chambered heart. Pressing them both until they become kyber.

They're on the temple above the trees again because the feeling that spun him is too large for the room. A notion he's had before that then was anguish and rage: I nearly lost you I might never have met you we should have known each other all our lives. This time, though it's the same thought, the feeling is opposite: gratitude, towering humility, relief. I know you now.

Up on the Massassi temple stones, he gentled his embrace of her and sat back, looking into her face. He was younger, and looked younger still, his face shaved and hair cropped for Imperial embedment; putting his palm gently against her face, hers not bruised as it had been when he'd looked like this, and looked at her this way, on Five Points Station; where they never could really have known one another—nothing could have started in that moment, it hadn't been their time—but just for a moment, imagine.

He imagines her everywhere with him. When he was six running with Khriou. When he was seven crawling into the gears of a Walker. When he rallied the survivors of the Battle of Sullust. When he tore up Draven's office because the Separatists had been a lie. When he groaned in pain as Kaytoo pressed on the foot of his rehabilitating leg for him to push back. When Xilo held him down or d'Djiera yanked him up or Aune moved them flat or Farir changed his pose. When he'd been slammed face down onto a console. When he'd hurt badly enough to let himself lean against Kay. When he taught every new recruit. When he'd left Linat and Dyv. When Mon Mothma confronted him. When he stood on the lip of the crater that had been Seidh's home. No order or reason to the memories but only that it was all right, he hadn't been alone after all. Jyn had been there.

He grasped the back of her head to kiss her more.

"Who are we," he murmured, eyes closed, foreheads pressed. "That I needed you all along."


…Little girl Partisan and little boy Separatist know. Their grown-up selves do, too.

god this was beautiful /lays down and contemplates life/

[kestreldawn]

There's a feeling of separation and then reunification in a way she could never explain - as though not only atom and blood and cellular organelle have combined, but beyond that - above that - stardust and interplanetary existence and moonbeam. Like the proverbial fabric and twine of their lives have met, joined, fused .. until one is no longer able to separate one from the other, know where one ends and one begins, where one dissolves and the other is birthed.

If she were to try to explain it, it would be the splicing of holos - only the holos are their memories, their pasts, their very beings. Succinctly and expertly traced and cut from one, joined with the other's, until even the most discerning and expert of eyes could no longer delineate fiction from reality. Of course they'd passed the years alongside each other; of course they shared their childhoods -

mourned the loss of parents and silently revered the shadows they'd left behind
found each other's most tender annoyances and, after one too many times of poking at the wounds, vowed to never do it again
stared at the glittering blackness overhead and whispered secrets and fears they'd not yet even admitted to themselves
carried the other, arm slung over shoulder, to nurse and tend and heal
existed in the silence of a shared room with no urgency, no falsified need to fill it or dispel it, content to breathe the same air

She carried him with her through her own flickering reel of history. A hand on her shoulder and murmur of hope as she cried for Beeny and Blue Has Obitt, left behind and abandoned on Coruscant. Talk of theorems and the pungent smell of sterile uniform exchanged for talk of seasons and the smell of fertile earth. He'd been the one who kept bringing the light back in that damp, dark shelter as the lantern flickered. The one who'd helped push herself off the ground, take another swing, dodge another fist through those years of training. The one whose lips she'd searched for instead of Codo's in the grotto. When she'd found herself back in a bunker, when she'd found herself alone, when she'd given up at Five Points. He was the tingle in her molars when the prospect of another day in Wobani seemed too much, too suffocating, too oppressive.

They know. Then and now.

"Two halves of one," she replies, as simple as a greeting. "Stardust separated and then brought back together again."

[candor1]

"Yes," he breathed back. Bringing their faces fully together.

He wants to be inside her again. It's the nearest they can get, since the kyberbeam, to intertwining their molecules, their dust. But he'd come so hard; even a light brush against him there now makes him shudder with overstimulation. But there's more than one way for them to slip inside one another, in ways that would have been beyond them in last life. —as he feels, for the first time in weeks, like he can fall asleep like this. Holding her.

"I'm fading," he murmured, brushing the words to her skin. "Do you think we can share dreams on purpose?"

…There were prerequisites, like lucid dreaming probably, but he knows the theory, had employed it successfully once or twice for antiinterrogation training or even data retrieval (there are things one can dream that can't be summoned by the waking mind, only by dreaming again). He'd never been able to do it without such motivation. …But Jyn has been his strongest motivation since he met her.

[kestreldawn]

She can't quite describe the swell of her heart, her chest from against him at his agreement. Utterly simplistic, as though it were the most logical and obvious thing in the entire universe - this one or the next (or the next, or the next ..). It feels as though it's how it had and has always been, only neither had been alert or perhaps observant enough to notice. And it's only in being rejoined, in broken kyber finding broken kyber, that the halves have fit together and remembered their missing piece.

"Worth a shot," she whispers with a smile on her lips and in her voice. "That's the theme of this universe, isn't it? Anything is possible?"

[candor1]

His fingers slipped into her hair. His arm was both strong and relaxed around her. Every place their bodies touched, felt like the whole universe. Nothing existed for him but her. It was utter peace.

He kissed her cheek, her eyelid, her mouth. Moved his hand from her hair (reluctantly) only long enough to find the pillow that had been thrown aside by their movements and pull it under her head, the fitting his own to sink into it beside hers.

They know more about each other than anyone's ever known either of them. It's achingly thrilling that he wants more again.

They've seen one another's lives. Can they take it further… can they share them…

He can't articulate the words aloud, so he just closes his eyes and lets his mind brush into hers. Take me anywhere. Where I wish I could have helped or held you before I could. Or come to any where I've been. Between endorphin plateau and almost near-sleep, his mind is hovering on a plane he'd only somewhat experienced when drugged. The difference: he'd hated being drugged; this is… euphoric. All the possibilities are open to them. She is the cosmos he's never been so content to walk into.